


an endless start of april

by vagarius



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Future, Canon Compliant, Dreams, Ferris Wheels, Gen, M/M, at least an attempt, i think, liminal spaces, mono no aware, somewhat vague references to hitachi seaside park which may or may not make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vagarius/pseuds/vagarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I haven't seen or heard from you in three years. Why now?"</p>
<p>"Why not?" The car creaks to a temporary stop. "You were thinking of me, weren't you? And I was thinking of you."</p>
<p><em>Why, though,</em> Kageyama thinks but doesn't say. <em>People aren't supposed to worry about me anymore.</em></p>
<p>The car kicks into motion and continues its ascent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an endless start of april

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheelia/gifts).



> happy summer hols, sheelia!! i went into this fic going for the "mono no aware" atmosphere, but the fic kind of took a mind of its own so i'm not sure if i succeeded. i was really intrigued by the ideas you had, so i kind of took bits and pieces from your requests and this fic was born. hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> (as a note, no, i am not sure if you can see the baby blue-eyes flowers from the ferris wheel)

_ephemera (n): things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time_

The squeaking of shoes and the sharp blow of a whistle are wholly familiar, even from a distance. It's easy to get caught up in the game, to let the rush of it sweep him away, crash over him. He watches Hinata bounce around the court, and when Hinata waves to him, he waves back, a lonely figure in the stands.

Hinata beams, at that, and only turns back around when prodded. The rest of the set finishes in a blur. The players become a blob of dark green uniforms, the orange of Hinata's hair flashing, and the blond of another teammate standing out in a similar manner. They high five, laughing as their tired arms nearly miss.

Kageyama makes his way down from the stands and onto the court. Hinata runs as if to lunge at him, then abruptly stops a few scant centimeters away, face practically in Kageyama's chest. They both back up a few steps, Hinata rubbing the back of his head. His hair is matted with sweat. "Your hair's disgusting," Kageyama comments, and it's a testament to years of casual insults that Hinata doesn't even blink before rubbing his sweaty hand on Kageyama's shirt.

"Isn't it?" he says, looking delighted at whatever expression Kageyama is making. "I'm going to shower, then we can leave. The rest are meeting us around 6, right?" Kageyama nods in answer, and Hinata hightails it to the showers, wiping more sweat from his hands onto his jersey.

Hinata's dressed in a t-shirt and a clean pair of shorts, so Kageyama doesn't feel as bad throwing on a sweatshirt over his button-up. It's moderately warm outside of the stadium, but the air is brisk and moving, and Kageyama's never done well with the cold.

They enter a small cafe – a hole-in-the-wall kind of place halfway between the stadium and their college campus – and Hinata goes to order while Kageyama secures an empty booth, since they won't all fit at one of the tiny tables situated toward the middle of the cafe. They've tried.

Hinata walks over, scooting into the other side of the booth. He passes a plain cup of tea and whatever pastry was within pointing distance (Hinata hates trying to pronounce the cafe's oddly creative names) over to Kageyama, then digs into his own sugary abomination of a drink, as well as his pastry.

The door opens again, a group of three shuffling in. Two of them make their way to the counter while the third makes their way toward the booth. Tsukishima slides in next to Kageyama, looking impossibly bored.

Kageyama nods in acknowledgement, while Hinata doesn't even spare him a glance, absorbed as he is in eating his pastry. Tsukishima isn't bothered.

Yamaguchi and Yachi scoot in beside Hinata. Each side of the booth is really only meant for two, but Yachi and Hinata are both pint sized, and the three fit comfortably enough. Yamaguchi places a slice of cake in front of Tsukishima, who almost smiles, and then puts a small assortment of cookies in the middle of the table. Yachi holds her drink firmly with two hands as she sips it.

"So how did your match go, Hinata?" Yamaguchi asks, straight and to the point. It's an effective way to get them all to talk, if sometimes rude when used for more personal topics, but talking about volleyball is a casual thing, even after their time in high school. Kageyama is once again reminded that old teammates make the best current friends.

Hinata lights up when he talks about his many matches, and today is no exception. He mostly uses hand gestures and unintelligible noises, filling them in about all the _pahs_ and _gwohs_ and _fwams._ Yamaguchi barges into a different topic, soon enough, and they eventually talk about roommates. Tsukishima, unsurprisingly, hates both of his.

"They can't be that bad?" Yachi tells him, more a question than anything, that Tsukishima is armed and ready to answer.

"They can," he deadpans, eyes fiery yet dead. "They somehow trash my bed every other week. This week it was chocolate sauce. The time before that was packing peanuts. I don't get it." He smirks a bit, his tone turning teasing. "First I have to choose the one university close to these idiots, then I end up rooming with people even worse than them. What did I do to deserve this?"

"What _didn't_ you do?" Hinata points out over his empty cup, "You're a total asshole. An okay person, sometimes, but still a total asshole."

"Repeating the fact is redundant, even for you."

"See? Total asshole."

Tsukishima leaves it at that, turning to Yamaguchi. "Didn't you say you were rooming with a kid from Aoba Johsai?"

Kageyama's ears involuntarily perk, waiting for Yamaguchi's response. "Oh, right, forgot I told you about that. I'm in a double with another third year student. His name's Kunimi, I think. We haven't really talked much."

_Kunimi._ Kageyama tosses the name around in his head, seeing where it fits. The last time he saw Kunimi was at the Interhigh Preliminaries in their last year of high school. They shook hands at the end of the match, and Kunimi retired from volleyball soon after. _Well, so did I,_ Kageyama thinks, snorting. Tsukishima looks over at the noise, but doesn't comment.

They talk some more, over empty plates and cups, about everything and nothing at all. Yamaguchi is in love with his classes, and Hinata loathes them. Yachi's professors are eccentric, while Tsukishima insists his classmates are weirder, though Tsukishima has always been a bit biased, and, to his dismay, a magnet for strange people. Kageyama doesn't have much to say, himself; his classes are okay, his roommates are okay, he likes talking to his professors, but nothing noteworthy. It's a content existence, especially when these meet-ups are the highlights.

The cafe closes late, and Hinata is very vocal about wanting to stay longer, but Yachi and Yamaguchi have early classes, and Tsukishima can only stand so much time around people. Hinata relents, throwing out the disposable cups and putting the plates in a small stack at the corner of the table.

They walk out the door together, splitting at the corner of the sidewalk. Kageyama and Hinata make their way to campus, Tsukishima to his own. Yamaguchi and Yachi head in the other direction for the station.

Kageyama basks in the feeling he gets, after these meet-ups. It's one of promise that he'll see them again.

The thought of seeing Kunimi blurs his thoughts; a foreign longing that mixes and clashes in equal measures. He tries his best to ignore it.

 

 

 

Kageyama is not a dreamer, at least in the literal sense. He's had nightmares so vivid in intensity that they take at least a day to fade away, but not dreams, not the softness of clouds over the space of his mind, or the blue of the sky under his eyelids. Yet tonight, he floats in his sleep, unnervingly aware.

The ocean rumbles somewhere not-so-distant, but the blue around him is not water. It's roiling hills, shifting in the breeze, a mere shade off from the midday sky. He feels unsteady, and reaches out a hand, grasps the metal rail that materializes under it. Perhaps it was already there, waiting to be noticed.

More rails appear in neat rows, carving out a simple back-forth path for Kageyama to walk. There's a small gate, at the end, guarding an unseen, creaking mass. Kageyama doesn't bother making it out, much more interested in the person standing in front of it.

Kunimi leans against the metal rail, not like he belongs there, but like he's been waiting for a long time under the sun. There's a small sheen of sweat on his forehead, which Kageyama finds odd, and his hair is parted just like Kageyama remembers. If Kageyama had not been thinking about him, Kunimi would've blended into the background, melting into the dreamscape like smudges on a painting.

He turns away from Kageyama, opens the gate, and makes his way towards the creaking mass Kageyama still can't see. Kageyama wants to chase, wants to reach, but the scene washes white, then grey.

When he wakes, he reevaluates what defines a nightmare. The answer is lost on him.

 

 

 

Classes are classes, to Kageyama; a static, lecturing stillness, to which he must attend. He's not a fan of sitting still for so long unless he's sleeping, so he likes taking short walks after class. He doesn't ever walk far, so it's always a surprise to run into someone who isn't from his previous class or entering the next.

The blond boy crashes into Kageyama with enough force to knock both of them off their feet. Kageyama lands mostly on his left side, and neatly rolls onto his stomach, pushing himself up to a stand. The other boy lies there for a moment before springing to his feet. He's taller than Kageyama, if only by a couple centimeters. Almost immediately after standing up, he squats back down to pick up his books. Kageyama bends at the hips to pick up his own book bag.

"Sorry!" the boy exclaims with a tiny salute, then abruptly lowers his hand to bring his eyes closer to Kageyama's face. "You're Hinata's friend, aren't you? That always shows up to our matches?"

_Ah, so that's who it is._ Kageyama doesn't know his name, but he knows blond hair against dark green uniforms, and deadly serves against gym floors. "Yes. And you're the first year pinch server."

The boy laughs, and Kageyama's wonders if it's out of discomfort or genuine amusement. He's never sure. "Yeah, that's me." They start walking, Kageyama for the familiarity, and the boy to burn his excess energy. _Maybe that's why he was in such a rush earlier._ "Hinata talks about you and his old teammates all the time. He said how a lot of them joined club teams, and then told me not to ask you why you aren't playing, because that sounds like something I'd ask." The boy stiffens, and Kageyama deliberately loosens his shoulders. He's resigned himself to moments like these, where the situation calls for neither stepping on eggshells nor tossing out words, but the hit still stings before it numbs. "I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?"

"Probably not," Kageyama answers, even though the question was rhetorical and he _knew that_ , for once, and drops the topic as tangibly as he can.

For all his apparent social impulsiveness, the boy is quick to understand, and simply walks next to Kageyama in silence.

Kageyama is trying to figure out some sort of dismissal, some time later, when the boy beats him to it. "I've got to get to class," he says, with a franticness that Kageyama is starting to think is part of him, "See you around!" The boy runs off, and Kageyama takes a moment to pity the next unfortunate student he smashes into. They had stayed close to the building during the walk, so Kageyama doesn't have to rush to class.

He strolls to one of the lower seats of the lecture hall, letting out a sigh at the gentle sort of relief that comes from sitting, then grimaces at the knowledge that the feeling won't last long. He forces himself to focus, even though the professor is only setting up. Staying alert the whole lesson hasn't gotten any easier, over the years, and after managing to do so, he promptly collapses onto one of the benches outside the building, and falls asleep.

 

 

 

_pathos (n): a quality that evokes pity or sadness_

 

 

 

Kageyama bursts through the unlocked gate, driven by a near hysterical need to _find,_ and almost runs into the side of an open passenger car. There's a single occupant, face obscured. Kageyama feels like he should know who it is, and that he _does_ , but no names come to mind, nor any faces. He climbs into the car, sits on the empty bench. The door closes by itself, and the hysterical feeling lessens somewhat. The ground creaks under him, car moving steadily upwards, and the blur around the other occupant clears.

Kunimi gazes at him coolly, and yet still has that same sheen of sweat on his forehead. Kageyama wonders how he forgot. They sit still, for a moment, or as still as they can be in a moving car, and then it's Kageyama who breaks the not-really silence.

"Why?" Kageyama asks, surprised at his own words. "I haven't seen or heard from you in three years. Why now?"

Kunimi's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shifts, then settles into what might be amusement. "How do you know it's me? I could just be a figment of your imagination." His voice is quiet in the air and loud in Kageyama's ears, and while it's a point to be considered, Kageyama knows that Kunimi is real, that the Kunimi in front of him is the one he'd see if he drove to Yamaguchi's university and waited for him in the dorm. Kunimi seems to understand his thoughts, and continues. "Why not?" The car creaks to a temporary stop. "You were thinking of me, weren't you? And I was thinking of you."

_Why, though,_ Kageyama thinks but doesn't say. _People aren't supposed to worry about me anymore._

The car kicks into motion and continues its ascent.

 

 

 

He remembers when volleyball was forever.

There was always some ignored, distant part of him that knew it was a short forever, like a team is a short forever, or any other relationship. He pushed it somewhere deep, somewhere under layers and layers of other information, under schedules and protein and hand signals, left to collect dust and cobwebs, left where he would be too disgusted to go look for it again. And until he had to dig it up and dust it off, he would deny its very existence, whether he was aware of this denial or not. The day it was bared out in the open, he would be ready to end this short forever, just like every other one.

He was not ready.

A tear, and the tail end of forever ghosted along his legs, his arms. His knees crackled sparks and fire, but it was the forced realization that made him cry.

He doesn't know it, now, but he had dreamt of Kunimi that night. Kunimi had laughed to the rumble of the ocean, smile dark and out of place. His expression drew lightning and his words brought rain, drops pricking at Kageyama's skin. He was a storm that crescendoed from the sea all the way to their little passenger car, unnervingly still in the midst of it.

Kunimi's voice was bitter, unlike anything he's heard before. "There are no forevers," he had told him, over the howling of nonexistent wind. "Even the circle of a wheel will break at some point, and at another it'll be beyond repair."

Kageyama had opened his mouth to say, _I wish things lasted longer,_ or perhaps, _I know that,_ but no sound came from his lips. If any did, it was covered by the creaking of the car, and the sound of Kunimi's laughter.

 

 

 

The car rocks gently as it moves. Kageyama relaxes into the motion, eyes tracing the familiar lines of Kunimi's face. _He really hasn't changed at all since high school._ He brings a hand to his own face with no deliberation on his part. _Though it's not like I have, either._

"Where are we?" Kageyama asks, and belatedly hopes Kunimi doesn't give some half-ass answer, like _in your dreams._

"On a ferris wheel," he says, which is only slightly better, then slides to the one side of the bench to look out the window. Kageyama slides down across from him and follows his gaze. He gasps at the sight.

Hills extend from all sides, covered in shades of baby blue. The colors seem to sway with the breeze, a soft up-and-down along the subtle slopes.

"Nemophila," Kunimi elaborates, "A type of flower." Kageyama hadn't noticed, before, but now that it was pointed out to him, he can almost make out the individual buds, deceptively delicate, and the tiny dots of green between them.

Kageyama blinks down at it all. "Didn't know you liked flowers," he comments, eyes still locked onto the expanse of blue.

"I don't, but Kindaichi does. At least, as he puts, 'the science-y parts'." Kunimi moves his gaze back to Kageyama, and Kageyama reluctantly looks away from the flowers to meet it. "I still play volleyball with him, sometimes. I think he misses you." At Kageyama's stunned expression, he adds, "Says it isn't as fun to play without a rival."

Kageyama's voice comes out more breathy than he intends. "He thought of me as a rival?"

"Mm."

"What did you think of me as?"

A pause, then, "An old friend, I suppose." His voice catches on the admission, if only slightly; a catch that say, _my view has changed._

"And now?" Kageyama prompts, almost scared of the answer.

Kunimi doesn't smile, but his eyes crinkle enough to imagine it. "A new one."

 

 

 

His days pass as they have been, lectures and stillness broken by the occasional meet-up, but his dreams are filled with Kunimi.

The ferris wheel becomes a constant, and Kunimi's presence a reprieve. He offers gentle friendship, an ear and a voice and a view, whether it's the roiling hills or the way his hair parts in the same achingly familiar way.

The talk and talk and talk, and sometimes laugh, and Kageyama will pretend they can be forever spinning, even though every fiber of his being yells at him that he can't, in a voice he can't recall. _You can't. We can't. There are no –_

"Kageyama?" Kunimi says, leaning into his space. Kageyama shoots backwards at the proximity, rocking the car, while Kunimi sits back at a calmer, not-car-shaking pace. "You seemed pretty serious there."

"Uh, I – yeah."

Kunimi smiles sleepily, and Kageyama thinks, _he's never smiled like that around me before._ He scoots over to look out the window, lips still tilted. "Did you know," he breathes, tone at odds with his expression, "That nemophila only bloom in April?" Kunimi looks back at him, then, sleepy smile in place, and the inside of Kageyama's chest softens, and his eyes crinkle over a smile of his own.

 

 

 

_transience (n): the state or fact of lasting only for a short time_

 

 

 

Kageyama's last class ends early, the following day, and he finds himself outside of the gym. It's not the first time he's been an outsider looking in, but it's weird when he has no purpose other than just _being_ there. Half of the volleyball team is cooling down while the other half continues spiking practice, Hinata included. He can wait for Hinata to finish, Kageyama figures, then walk together to the dorms for a change.

Hinata walks out of the showers with the blond pinch server at his heels. His face brightens with surprise as he hightails to Kageyama, hair still dripping water onto the towel around his neck. The pinch server waves with a now-familiar franticness and heads in the other direction.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," Hinata comments as they make their way to the dorms. "Don't get me wrong, I like walking with you, it's just unexpected."

Kageyama answers the unasked question, saying, "Classes ended early," then lets Hinata chat as he pleases. Kageyama genuinely _enjoys_ walking back to the dorms together and listening to Hinata's inane stories, but for some reason his mind keeps drifting, moving farther away just as he's about to pull it back.

Hinata notices, inevitably. "What's got you looking like that, Kageyama?"

Kageyama thinks about it, he thinks and thinks and thinks, but he can't recall. "I don't know," he tells him, sounding horribly lost, "And I'm not sure how much that matters." And he _isn't_ sure, isn't sure if he _needs_ to remember as long as he can hold the ghost of feeling in his chest, close and soft and warm, isn't quite sure if _needing_ to matters at all when he _wants_ to, because wanting feels like taking and he's taken far too much, even if he isn't sure what it is he's taken.

And next to him is someone who's held things not by the strands but by the stitches, tight but never tearing, in small hands with strong fingers. When Hinata looks up at him, Kageyama thinks about it; thinks about Hinata's grip on his goals and his friends and his stories; thinks, _I can do it too._

And if Hinata knows he thinks this, he doesn't say a word.

 

 

 

He dreams of Kunimi once more.

They're on the ferris wheel, spinning higher and higher over blue hills, ocean rumbling somewhere not-so-distant. The creaking of the ride stops as Kunimi smiles his sleepy smile, and Kageyama thinks, "I want to kiss you."

Except he must've said it out loud, because the smile slips off as Kunimi blinks, slow and long and torturous. A still moment passes. Then the car tilts, and Kageyama is falling, falling, falling, Kunimi's body crushed to his chest and Kunimi's smile against his own.

The scene fades as he wakes, but not the feeling, and Kageyama struggles to hold onto a detail – any detail, any stitch – and ends up with _Kunimi,_ though he's not sure why.

Kageyama hates driving, but he has his license and a roommate with a car, so as soon as he's handed the key he bolts, stuffing himself into the driver's seat. He drives out of campus and past the station, knees going stiff partway there, and all the way to Yamaguchi's campus. Fishing out the old visitor's pass that he managed to grab, he lets his stiff legs carry themselves to Yamaguchi's dorm room. When he knocks, it's Kunimi who answers, and there must be something in Kageyama's expression because Kunimi simply opens the door wider to let him in.

If Kageyama is anything, it's someone who doesn't beat around the bush, so he says, "Tell me about the dreams."

Kunimi, to his credit, doesn't seem fazed, but feigns obliviousness. "What dreams?" he asks, casual and familiar and _why familiar, he's not supposed to be familiar._

"Don't you remember?" Kageyama counters in a way that says _you do._

"And you don't?" There's a sort of disappointment, in Kunimi's voice, one that speaks of endings and loneliness, of solitude in sharing. With a shake of his head, he starts telling tales of gates and ferris wheels, and a story built on creaks and circles and conversations. He talks about their minutes asleep in what feels like hours of consciousness. Then he suddenly cuts himself off, the uncharacteristic _clack_ of his teeth catching Kageyama's attention.

Kageyama remembers the weight of warmth and the feel of falling, and waits for Kunimi to continue. When he doesn't, Kageyama prompts, "And then?" and for a moment, is given no sign of response.

Then Kunimi opens his mouth, whispers, "Give me your phone," and Kageyama is too curious to complain. He has to search is pockets for it, but eventually fishes it out to give to Kunimi. It isn't dead, thankfully, nor is it locked, so Kunimi easily opens up the notes app and starts typing.

He hands the phone back to Kageyama, who holds it like he didn't just see Kunimi typing. Kunimi raises his eyebrows, just barely. It's enough to get Kageyama to look down at the screen. Lit by the backlight are the words, _Then I kissed you,_ and in a separate note, _I think I like you._

"I think I like you, too," Kageyama says out loud. "I don't want this to be a fleeting dream."

Kageyama gets up and walks to the bed where Kunimi is sitting. "Can I?" he wonders, thoughts leaving his lips as words, and when Kunimi nods, Kageyama leans in.

 

 

 

Hinata's next match falls on a Saturday, so Kageyama ends up arriving late.

Yamaguchi and Yachi actually made it to the match, and with them comes Tsukishima, who leans against the railing disinterestedly. Kageyama takes residence beside him. They stand quietly, while Yamaguchi and Yachi cheer next to them.

"Did you know," Kageyama breathes to no one, after a particularly loud play, "That nemophila only bloom in April?"

Tsukishima looks at him, for the first time that night, and as he turns away, says, "They also bloom in May."

 

 

 

_empathy (n): the ability to understand and share the feelings of another_

**Author's Note:**

> mono no aware – the pathos of things (also, "an empathy toward things," or "a sensitivity to ephemera"); japanese term referring to the awareness of impermanence (the transience of things)


End file.
